


Ma'am, To Rhyme With Jam

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [95]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When members of the Royal Family decide to pay a visit to the ARC, Cutter is deeply unimpressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ma'am, To Rhyme With Jam

“Did he just say what I think he said?”

Stephen watched as Cutter’s eyebrows went up at speed, the collision with his forehead sending his hair beyond its usual startled look into something that could only be described as fright mode.

“Lieutenant Owen, do check the Professor’s ears. There is nothing whatsoever wrong with my ability to enunciate clearly.”

“Nothing wrong with your enunciation, my little pigmy shrew, I can testify to that,” Lyle muttered from his position lounging against the wall of his Lester’s office.

“He’ll have to stick drops in for two weeks before I can syringe ‘em,” Ditzy commented at the same time.

Lester distributed a nuclear strength glare at everyone in sight.

It singularly failed to have any effect.

“I am not fucking calling anyone Your Royal Sodding Highness. This is not bloody Ruritania!”

“He did read the briefing after all,” Connor whispered to Abby, failing to disguise his amusement.

“Why do you think the fire alarm went off?” Claudia asked, slightly more sotto voce than Connor had managed.

Claudia was right. Cutter’s outraged cursing had been clearly audible throughout the science section and probably through most of the building.

“I don’t believe the word ‘sodding’ was including in the briefing Ms Wickes sent out on my behalf. Now, if we might return to the matter at hand…”

“The names of the security personnel need to be removed from the briefing,” Ryan commented, standing – unlike his 2IC – at parade rest, a sure sign that he was unimpressed by something. “Special forces personnel are never identified by name, sir.”

“The DSF would have a fucking duck-fit,” Joel Stringer agreed, lounging at ease in a chair, tilting it back on two legs because he knew it annoyed Lester.

Lester rolled his eyes. “Nice try, but no dice, gentlemen. You’re all practically on first name terms with the royal family by now, judging by the number of times you’ve rampaged through their greenhouses and pagodas.”

“And orangeries. They were pretty pissed off about the Orangery. I thought Charlie-boy was about to shit an entire Lego castle when he saw the state of the Orangery.”

“Thank you, Captain Stringer. I’d been attempting to expunge the episode with the Orangery from my mind. I can assure you that I have discussed the matter with the Director of Special Forces and he has given his approval to the briefing document. I believe he thinks the visit provides a timely reminder of the part played by the armed services in ensuring public safety throughout this challenging episode of British history, and besides, you’ve been identified by rank only, not by reference to your regiment. Now, if I might continue…?”

“I’m a bloody republican!” Cutter’s voice had risen by several octaves.

“Aren’t we all?” Lester murmured, a slight smile twitching his lips. “Be that as it may, Cutter, you will shake their hands, call them ‘Your Royal Highness’ and incline your head in a respectful manner.”

“I am not bowing!”

“Miss Wickes, would you reacquaint the Professor with the actual wording of the document?”

“Upon being “presented” to Their Royal Highnesses, a firm handshake accompanied by a bob (an exaggerated inclination) of the head is considered appropriate,” Lorraine quoted, failing to disguise the amusement in her voice.

“Thank you. You see, Cutter, no mention of bowing. And no requirement to curtsey, either, Miss Maitland,” Lester added, clearly noticing that Abby was just about to add her two penn’orth to the general chaos.

“Good.” For a moment, Abby looked almost as mutinous as Cutter. She’d already treated anyone in the vicinity of her office to an impressive rant on the royal family’s huntin’, shootin’ and fishin’ habits. And no one who valued their eardrums would utter the words ‘Prince Philip’ and ‘World Wildlife Fund’ in the same sentence in her hearing.

Lester fixed everyone with a beady-eyed stare that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a raptor. “Now are you all au fait with the correct mode of address?”

Stringer muttered something under his breath; the only easily audible part being the words ‘ferret’s festering foreskin.’ The relevance of this to the current situation wasn’t wholly clear, but the sentiment was one Stephen would happily endorse.

“The Earl and Countess of Wessex should be addressed upon being ‘presented’ as ‘Your Royal Highness’ and thereafter the Earl is addressed as ‘Sir’ and the Countess as ‘Ma’am’ rhyming with ‘jam’.” Lorraine intoned, doing her level best not to meet anyone’s eyes.

“I trust that’s clear,” Lester said brightly. “I’m told their Royal Highnesses are most impressed with the reports they’ve received of the work of the ARC.”

“They obviously don’t have an Orangery.”

“Thank you for that contribution, Lieutenant Lyle. I consider it fortunate that I was already in possession of a knighthood before that particular episode.”

“You’re a republican but you accepted a knighthood?” Abby treated Lester to one of her best belligerent stares, the one that would have had Paddington Bear conceding defeat in an open contest.

Lester waved one immaculate hand airily. “Principles and politics don’t mix, Miss Maitland. Besides, Sir James Lester has rather a ring to it, don’t you think?”

Abby’s resulting eye-roll took gold, narrowly beating Lester’s last effort into second place, much to their boss’s obvious annoyance. “And why does my badge have to say Miss Abigail Maitland when Connor’s just says ‘Connor Temple’?” Abby emphasised her annoyance by miming quotation marks around the word miss.

“Royal protocol.”

“Started so that his aides knew who they’d have to buy off if Phil the Greek groped someone who was already spoken for,” Stringer supplied helpfully.

The look of outrage on Abby’s face promised an impressive firework display if anyone tried anything like that with her.

Lester rapped his knuckles sharply on the desk. “You have 24 hours to familiarise yourselves with the correct protocol and the running order before the visit tomorrow. Sick notes from your mothers will not be accepted. Do I make myself clear? Now shoo!” Lester flapped his hands for emphasis. “Those dinosaurs won’t chase themselves.”

* * * * *

By 9am the following morning, the ARC smelled strongly of bleach and Cutter was walking around with his own personal thundercloud hovering over his head. He’d deliberately not shaved and appeared to have slept in his clothes. Claudia took one look at him, rolled her eyes and disclaimed all responsibility, claiming she’d been out with some old schoolfriends the previous evening.

From the faint waft of animal dung whenever Abby walked past, Stephen had a strong suspicion she’d arrived early to muck out the temporary animal holding pens. They’d last been used to house a particularly incontinent embolotherium calf before its transfer to the zoo at Farnley Hall. Abby had pointedly ignored Lester’s offer to show her the way to the showers and had made sure her hands were impressively filthy.

The military contingent had also apparently all mislaid their razors overnight as well, with Stringer now well on the way to sporting a short beard instead of his usual heavy stubble to go with his usual longer-than-regulation hair. Ryan remained wholly imperturbable in the face of Lester’s increasingly acerbic rants, while Lyle was adding fuel to the fire of his lover’s martyrdom by finding the whole thing vastly amusing, judging by the perpetual grin on his face as he lounged around outside Lester’s office awarding points for artistic integrity whenever the invective exceeded normal levels.

Connor, on the other hand had dressed in his best waistcoat and matching fingerless gloves, oblivious to the effect his red trousers were having on the observers. Fortunately, the overall display of bright yellow shirt, green waistcoat and the trousers from hell had been enough to render even Lester speechless when Connor had taken up his accustomed place at the ADD, coffee in one hand and bacon butty in the other.

“At least he’s made an effort,” Claudia commented, with something of a fond look in the direction of their resident genius.

“I think several people are making an effort,” Stephen muttered, failing to hide his own grin. “I don’t think Abby ended up with that much dirt under her nails by accident.”

“I’m almost starting to sympathise with James,” Claudia said, equally quietly. In response to Stephen’s raised eyebrows, she added, “I did say almost.”

“Did he write that ridiculous briefing?” Stephen still couldn’t work out how anyone could have made the programme for a visit scheduled to last no more than 45 minutes stretch to 11 pages.

Claudia laughed. “Oh God, no, we can’t blame him for that. He did succeed in getting the bit taken out where they wanted local schoolkids standing outside the ARC waving flags.”

Stephen stared at her, not quite knowing whether she was being serious or not, but she stared straight back and nodded.

“What part of top-secret government operation did they fail to understand?”

“The top-secret bit, apparently, which is one reason James is quite so steamed up about the whole thing. Although it might have been worth it so we could have put Joel on crowd-control duties. It would have stretched the little darlings’ command of the English language in a few unexpected directions.”

By 10am the smell of bleach had been replaced by an equally repellent lavender air freshener. But at least the black-fly infestation in one of the botany labs had fled in search of fresh air, so that meant some of the science team was happy.

Two Police Protection Officers had arrived and were currently being shown around the building by Ryan. Lyle had taken one look and promptly dubbed them the Chuckle Brothers. Stephen could see his point. Their ill-fitting suit jackets did a bad job of disguising their shoulder holsters, but the loose fit and lack of a chest strap meant that neither man would manage to get their pistols out in anything like a reasonable time. Stringer was heard to award three out of ten. Ryan later commented that had been a generous mark.

At 10.30, Lorraine received a telephone call to inform them that the Royal Party (capitalised throughout the briefing document), due at 11am (although the increasingly derided briefing had been at pains to stress that Royal Visits could run either early or late) was running 37 minutes late, prompting Lyle to enquire whether someone had forgotten to squeeze the right amount of toothpaste onto the Royal Toothbrushes.

At 11.15, when the estimated arrival was revised for the third time, even Lester was heard to mutter acerbically that punctuality was the politeness of kings but clearly princes worked to different standards.

Eventually, the cavalcade arrived at the main gate just after noon. No one was entirely surprised when the gate-guard politely asked the driver of the lead car to supply proof of identity and Claudia pointedly turned a blind-eye when money was seen to change hands inside the ARC.

Stephen looked up from the atrium in time to see Lester brush a no doubt wholly imaginary speck of fluff off the sleeve of his suit and then commence an impressive descent of the curving ramp from the first floor just as the first of the Royal Party came into view through the over-sized doors to the internal car park.

The Earl of Wessex walked several paces ahead of his wife, his hands clasped behind his back, as he leaned forward, reminding Stephen of the pigeon he sometimes fed with the remains of his lunchtime sandwich. His immaculately-dressed wife walked a few paces behind. After them was a soldier in dress uniform.

“Equerry,” Ryan said quietly, to Stephen, giving the man a very professional once-over. “Royal Military Police.”

From what Stephen remembered of the briefing notes, the harassed-looking woman wearing an enormous chain of office trailing in behind the royal couple was Lady Cooke, the Lord Lieutenant of the county. From the surreptitious look Stephen saw her giving her watch, trailing in substantially late wasn’t her idea of fun although the supercilious Private Secretary next to her looked like he didn’t give a monkey’s toss how late they were. The look on the man’s face could have curdled milk when he saw the state of the science team, loosely grouped around the ADD.

Looking utterly in command of the situation, Lester made his way over to the Royal Party and stretched out one elegantly-manicured hand to the Earl, managing the impressive feat of physical and verbal coordination needed to say, “Your Royal Highness”, and give an almost imperceptible inclination of his head at the same time. He managed the same with the Countess while Stephen, and probably everyone else in the atrium, was boggling over the fact that she was managing to walk at all in a pair of high, very thin-heeled shoes.

Lester turned to the peanut gallery and started to say, “Sir, Ma’am, may I present the head of our science team, Prof…”

The ADD alarm chose that exact moment to go off, drowning out the rest of Lester’s introduction with what sounded suspiciously like a heavy metal version of God Save the Queen.

For a moment, Stephen wondered if he’d dreamed the third, equally minuscule nod of the head that Lester appeared to have given in Connor’s direction, but then the usual scramble of an anomaly shout took precedence over everything else.

The Royal Party stood in the middle of the atrium while around them both the security team and the science team sprang into action.

“Joel, Jon, your shout,” Ryan said calmly. “Don’t rush back.”

Stephen grabbed the gun-case Finn thrust at him and followed Cutter towards the garage.

“Sorry about this,” Cutter said with a grin that would have put the Cheshire Cat to shame, waving his hand expansively in the direction of the Royal Party and conspicuously failing to bob his head. “These things always happen at the most inconvenient times. One went off when I was in the bath last week, and I very nearly….”

“Don’t let us keep you, Professor Cutter,” Lester cut in, sounding at his most urbane. “Anomalies wait for no man.”

“Nice to meet you,” Abby said, thrusting a very grimy hand at the Earl who, to his credit, shook it without actually wincing.

“Gotta dash…” Connor said, grabbing his box of tricks and skidding off in the direction of the vehicles, in a vivid flash of clashing colours, very nearly sweeping one of the Chuckle Brothers off his feet in the process.

“How very exciting,” the Countess said faintly.

“Just another day in the life of the Anomaly Research Centre, ma’am,” Lester said, drawling the last word in a very definitely non-regulation manner as Stringer, Lyle and the rest of the soldiers thundered past, positively dripping with weaponry.

Wondering quite how big a bung Lester had slipped Connor to pull that particular stunt, Stephen ran after the soldiers, studiously not making eye-contact with Ryan, who had his very best bland expression firmly in place.

He’d bet his last tenner on the fact his lover had been in on the scam.

The final words Stephen heard as he threw the gun case in the back of the Hilux were Lester saying smugly, “Shall we continue? I’ll just have to do my best to stand in for the rest of the team…”

**Author's Note:**

> I hate to tell you this, but all the protocol in this is accurate.


End file.
